PHOTO PROMPT © Lisa Fox
Sixteen-year-old Keaton sat facing the bow tree as he did every day after school. Another tree to his back, he drove the lead pencil, its tip making familiar scratchy sounds across the paper in his sketch book.
It was his favorite tree and it listened. “I argued with my girlfriend again,” he told the tree. “Dad and step-mom are divorcing.” He was only six when Dad left his real Mom. “My grades suck and I can’t get to sleep anymore.”
He finished his sketch, stood, and nodded to the bow tree. “See you tomorrow, friend.”
Bow was a good listener.
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